


Pocket Knife

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, Mob Boss Original Percival Graves, Protective Credence Barebone, absolutely no accuracy or good content here MOVE ALONG, bamf credence, horrible mob tropes, reworked and reposted!!!!, this is so bad im sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 13:17:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14770346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Graves sighed when Shaw snapped his fingers and a dozen handguns clicked to life.It was a stupid plan.Inviting Percival Graves, boss of the fucking city, to dinner and threatening him into submission? Childish. Cliché.Well. No one ever accused Shaw of being smart.-Graves is a mob boss. Credence is his sweet, innocent piece of arm candy. Credence is certainly too sweet for this business. He doesn't have any secrets or surprises at all.Really. Nothing.





	Pocket Knife

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gravescival wherever you are you beautiful angel](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=gravescival+wherever+you+are+you+beautiful+angel).



> Okay, listen. I wrote this fic before I had ever seen the movie. It was bad. I decided to rework and rewrite it after I saw this FANTASTIC art (https://gravescival.tumblr.com/post/159825735932/percival-graves-x-credence-barebone-mafiamobau) inspired by my???? bullshit????? I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ITS SO GOOD
> 
> anyway - cw for some brief sexual stuff and some homophobic slurs by an asshole. also, a teeensy bit of violence.

“Purple, or gold?”

Graves held up both ties. Credence flushed, still not used to being asked his opinion.

“Um. Whatever you need.”

“No, Credence. I’m asking what you  _ like _ .”

Credence fiddled with his hair in the full length mirror, trying not to meet Mr. Graves’ deep eyes. “Come now, boy.” He purred. Graves stepped closer behind him, kissing the shell of his ear. Credence whimpered. So sensitive. So delightful.

“Th-that one.” Credence breathed, tilting his head. 

Graves chuckled. The boy hadn’t even opened his eyes. 

-

His boy wanted a danish for breakfast. More specifically, he wanted a danish from  _ that _ bakery with  _ that _ nice couple who ran it. Some average, plump, sunny civilians who smiled at Credence and gave him extra sweets. 

On cold, introspective nights, Percival Graves thought that was where Credence belonged. His sunny boy, far too innocent and pretty for the bloody alleys where Graces did his business. He should be on the arm of a freckled boy his age, sneaking kisses and holding hands and whatever the fuck normal people did.

Instead, Credence was with him. Instead, Credence was...

“I’d just like to say hi, sir. I promise, I’ll be  _ so  _ careful.” Credence pleaded.

“No. Absolutely not. Someone will swipe you. I’ll send in my driver.”

“Mister Kowalski has a gun, you know. An’ Miss Queenie’s really quick.”  

He squeezed Grave’s arm, straddled over his thigh. Graves’ driver politely avoided eye contact in the rear view mirror.

“Or you could come in with me..?” Credence bit his lip. 

Graves’ looked out the window at the little bakery. Damn it.

“Only for a moment.”

“Oh thank you, thank you Daddy!” Credence said, bouncing on Graves’ thigh. He gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, far too warm and soft. 

“Of course, my boy.” 

-

Graves sat with his back to the wall, of course, and his eyes on the door. His driver was idling, and with the press of his thumb eight trusted men could storm the bakery. 

“D - Mister Graves?”

His boy was flushed, lifting a brown paper bag. Graves smiled up at him, indulgently.

“Queenie made me a special drink, on the house. D’you wanna split it?”

Poison. Obviously. He’d researched the couple - ex-marine and intelligence ops. Graves took out his phone. 

“Here we are!” 

A stunning blonde patted Credence’s shoulder, sitting him down and sliding a cup in front of him. Graves blinked at it. The foam looked like a little cat in the cup. Credence cooed over it, of course.

“Oh, thank you, Queenie! How adorable.”

“Jacob’s trying it out. We call it a  _ catte.” _

“I can’t eat it - it’s too cute!”

They giggled together, Queenie fluffing his hair. They should leave soon. Too many people, looking over at the commotion - 

“Oh, and...Percival Graves?”

Graves snapped his head up. Her smile didn’t falter.

“Your boy is safe with us. You can call off your men. Yeah?”

Credence turned to him, hopeful.

Graves huffed a laugh. He grabbed a spoon, scooped up the cat, and ate it in one bite.

“Mister Graves!”

“Now you can drink it.”

Queenie just laughed, eyes twinkling. 

-

Sitting at home - well. Funny, that. It was never ‘home’ until Credence moved in. 

“We have a dinner invitation, tonight. Toriello’s, at 8.”

Credence hummed, swallowing a mouthful of honeyed milk. “Are we going, sir?”

“I haven’t decided. An invitation from the Jersey branch. Nothing too important.”

“Yes, sir.”

Credence didn’t ask who, or why. He never asked too much. Graves liked that.

“Perhaps I’ll leave it up to you.” Graves smiled, a tad too indulgent. “Would you like to accompany me?”

Credence met his eyes for a moment before dropping them to his hands. 

“Um. What would we do?”

“Well…” Graves stretched, reaching to brush a lock of hair behind his boy’s ear. “We’d go out to the jeweler’s, get you something new. Pick up your clothes from the tailors. We’d get all gussied up, and head out at 7:30. You’d sit on my lap and be pretty, laugh at all my jokes…”

Credence smiled. That always made it worth it. Graves stroked his hair, brushing his thumb over Credence’s cheek. “We’d be back, oh, maybe by 9.” 

Credence giggled, pressing his mouth into Graves’ hand to hide it.

“What’s so funny?”

“The big, scary mob boss can’t be out past bedtime?”

“Businessman, Credence. I’m a businessman. And I need to put my boy to bed.”

Oh, how he adored Credence’s laugh.

-

Graves savoured Credence’s look of awe as they entered the tiny tailor’s shop. It was quite the swirl of colors, save for the men in dark clothes who kept checking the windows. Good, loyal men. Unobtrusive weapons. 

“There’s so many...um.” Credence reigned himself in, dropping his sparkling eyes and curling in on himself. Graves frowned.

“All for you, my boy.” He pressed his hand to the small of Credence’s back. “Anything for you. Come now, straighten up. Shoulders back.”

Credence was almost taller than him, like this. He’d curl into Graves chest as though he could hide from the world. Graves always let him. 

“Let’s go pick up your clothes, hm?”

Credence nodded.

-

“Do you like it?”

Credence didn’t look at his reflection. “Yes, sir.”

“Such a polite boy.” Graves’ tailor crooned. He slid his hands down Credence’s sides. Graves glared at his back.

“Credence.” His boy winced, squeezing his eyes shut. “Tell me what you think.”

“Um.” The suit wasn’t really a suit, though Credence supposed he didn’t have much experience either way. It was a deep, plum waistcoat that clung to his sides. He had a white shirt under it, so soft Credence could hardly believe it was real fabric. Graves liked it with no tie, unbuttoned to show his collarbone. 

Graves liked it. Credence squirmed, feeling his eyes on his hips, his thighs.

“I love it, sir. It’s...soft.”

Graves smiled. “Good. Good boy.”

-

In the end, they bought three waistcoats, a cincher, new heels, a set of rose gold bracelets, and a demure little nude lipstick that Credence shyly picked out. One day, he’d have his boy in sinful red. These things simply took time.

“Let me see it with the clincher.” Graves said, sipping from his lillet blanc. He savoured his boy’s flush. “Don’t you want to try it?”

It was really just a cloth slip - it would only take him in an inch or two. Again, starting small. He’d seen his boy’s eyes drifting to the windows of corset stores, lingerie stores. 

Whatever he wanted, he’d get.

Credence wrapped it once around his stomach, holding out the strings to Graves. He set down his drink and stood to join him, pulling the strings tight, tying them, and slipping them under his waistband. Credence shuddered as his hands drifted lower, lower.

“With the shirt, please.”

Credence reached for his new shirt with shaking hands, slipping it over his bony shoulders. Graves reached around to help button it, tuck it into his pants. He slid his hand over his boy’s needy erection. Credence whimpered.

“Now the vest.”

Credence could barely lift his arms, leaning back against Graves.

“Won’t you help me, sir?”

“Of course.”

Graves would have laughed in someone's face if they were to tell him that, in three years time, he might one day be playing butler to some little orphan boy. But here he was, asking Credence to lift his arms, buttoning his vest, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“Oh, my boy…”

It was only an inch or two, but  _ my, my _ . Credence’s waist dipped in just so, perfect for Graves hand to cup around. Perfect to show him off.

“What do we say?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Ah..?”

“Th-thank you, daddy.”

-

They left the house at 7:45. To be fair, it was hard for Graves to keep his hands to himself when Credence was  _ looking  _ like that. He had his new bracelets on, his two inch heels. Such a pretty boy. They’d barely made it to the car.

“Sir?”

“Mm?”

“You’re, um.” Credence flushed. “Do I look funny?”

“You look beautiful.”

Credence shook his head, eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no. None of that, boy. Would I ever lie to you?”

“Yes.”

Graves chuckled. “Well, perhaps. But not about this. My beautiful boy. I can’t wait to show you off.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Credence bit his lip.

“Do you have a question?”

Credence shook his head. 

“Good boy. To answer, we’re meeting Henry Shaw’s son, Junior.”

Credence cocked his head. “Why not his papa?”

“He’s giving his son more leeway. Wants to see if he’s good to take the lead, or too young.”

Graves could see his boy filing away that information, thinking it over. What a sweet, silly thing. 

-

Graves took his sweet time getting out of the car. He pulled Credence in for a long, slow kiss. He wanted to keep the littlest Shaw waiting just a  _ bit  _ longer. Just to keep his power clear.

“Mr. Graves,” Credence sighed, arching into Graves’ touch. 

“We must be going, baby boy.”

“But…”

“No, not a moment more, you tempting thing. Come.”

And maybe Graves could call it a power play, having such a flushed little morsel on his lap for dinner. But mostly, he wanted an excuse for Credence to lean heavily on him, teetering on his new heels.

-

They were led to a table in the corner, where both sides of the table could see the door. Shaw was waiting, chewing on a cigarette and tapping his foot.

Impatient, emotional thing. He’d never last long, in this business.

“Ah, Percival!” He stubbed his cigarette out on the table. Graves wrinkled his nose in distaste. Credence hid in Percival’s neck. He didn’t like smoke. “It’s been too long. Late again, old man.”

“Junior.” He gave the man a firm handshake. Henry Shaw’s eye twitched at the nickname. “This is my boy, Credence.”

Henry gave him a confused look. “I never knew you had a son.”

A deeply personal question. Another point from Shaw’s report card. Graves smiled.

“I don’t. Credence, say hi.”

Credence made a little noise in his throat, blinking at him. Shaw stared and stared. Graves abruptly realized they must be close in age. 

“None of that, boy. This is Shaw.”

“P-pleasure to meet you, sir.” Credence said, holding out a shaky hand. Shaw bent low and kissed it, smirking up at  _ his  _ boy with his oily charm. Credence twitched his hand away, tucking it into Graves’ open overcoat as if to clean it. Graves didn’t let his jaw tense or his teeth grind.

“Ah - The pleasure’s all mine. Sit?”

Credence took Graves coat with a fond smile, folding it over his arm. He ignored Shaw’s cough for the same treatment, making Graves swell with pride. He was learning.

Credence scampered off to find a coat closet, oblivious to the wandering eyes that followed him, his hips, his long hair.

“He’s gorgeous.” Shaw said.

“Yes. Terribly sweet.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will use him against you?” Shaw asked, trying and failing at any subtlety. 

“I keep him on a tight chain.” Graves said, blankly. “Do you want to treat me to dinner, or shall we get to whatever is the reason you called me out on such a lovely night?”

“Better things to do, old man?”

“You could say that.” He smiled at Credence upon his return.

“I hope you don’t mind, I used some change to check your coat.” Credence flushed, ducking his head and rubbing his hands on his thighs.

“I don’t mind at all, dear boy. That was very nice of you. Sit.”

Credence moved towards the third chair tacked onto the corner booth. Graves chuckled.

“Boy, did you think I wouldn’t at least pull out the chair for you? No,  _ sit _ .”

Credence froze, glancing at Shaw. Graves’ smile didn’t waver. Credence sat on Graves’ lap, sighing in contentment when Graves cradled his head close to his chest. 

“Good boy. Now, Shaw, what was it you wanted?”

Shaw was staring at Credence.

“Shaw?”

“Hm?”

“...he asked you a question.” Credence said, hands twitching.

It took every ounce of self control for Graves not to gape at the boy. Shaw laughed, startled.

“M-money. I need - we -  _ Jersey _ needs three million.” 

Shaw leaned forward, grabbing his wine by the bulb and swallowing it. Graves sighed. 

“Fine. Done. Was that it, Shaw? Surely, you could have written.” 

Shaw held up a fucking finger, guzzling more wine. Credence’s hand was now clenched.

Poor boy. His first meeting should have been with Sera. He must be so anxious. 

“I want White Plains.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“Don’t get too greedy, Shaw. What’s it that you say, boy? Gluttony is a sin?”

“Yes, Mr. Graves.” His eyes didn’t leave Junior. 

“White Plains, or Jersey is out.”

“Cute. Come along, Credence. I think we’re done here.”

“I don’t think we are.” Shaw grinned, showing his tombstone white teeth. He snapped his fingers, and a good quarter of the restaurant stood, drawing weapons from their coats.

Graves sighed. “I suppose you have a speech?” He squeezed Credence, who was frozen in shock.

Poor baby. Graves leaned his head on his shoulder. 

“You’re getting soft, Percy.” Abernathy grinned, looking from him to Credence. “You need someone new to take over for you and your little honey. Go home and take him to bed. Let me handle this from now on, huh?”

Graves sighed, squeezing Credence’s waist again. The poor boy was tense to the point of shaking. 

“Percival Graves.” Abernathy laughed. “Percival  _ fucking  _ Graves. Hanging out with little twinks at queer bars like some - some  _ homo?  _ You give all of us a bad fucking name.”

And now some slurs. Fabulous. Poor Credence must be so scared -

“How  _ dare  _ you?” Credence hissed. He turned away from Graves’ chest. “Making a scene like this, wasting Mr. Grave’s time -”

Graves blinked.

“Baby - ” 

“-my sweet Daddy bought me new clothes an’ everything!” Credence stood, looking like he was about to scream or sob. His bracelets jangled with every other word. Shaw stood, palms up in front of his chest. “Sit down!”

Shaw sat. 

Shock. That’s what it had to be. Credence saw the guns and was freaking out. 

“He - he bought me all these nice things to go out for a lovely dinner and you pull this - this - this  _ trick _ !”

Credence, by some grace of god, made that sound like a swear. 

“Calling him soft - how  _ dare _ you?”

“Baby, calm down…” Shaw reached out to Credence -

\- who promptly picked up a knife and stabbed it into the back of his hand, pinning it to the table. Shaw shrieked in pain. Two gunmen rushed at Credence, waving pistols. Credence rounded on them.

Oh boy. Oh,  _ boy.  _ Graves grinned, completely delighted. 

“Get those out of my face. What would your mothers say, interrupting everyone’s supper? There’s people trying to enjoy a lovely evening -”

“Credence -”

“- all excited to go out -”

“Sweetheart -”

“-and you ruin their night!”

Graves tapped his water glass with his spoon. Everyone else in the restaurant awkwardly stood, revealing guns, knives...the bartender pulled a shotgun from under the bar, leveling it at Shaw’s men. It was half-hearted, at this point.

Credence deflated. Graves sighed.

“Shaw, get that cleaned up. That’ll give you a nasty infection.”

“You - you bitch,” Shaw wheezed. “Stupid...ugh.”

“I was gonna put it in your eye.” Credence said, a little dazed. “I’ll kill you if you ever insult Mr. Graves again. Okay? I’ll stab out your eyes. I’ve done it before. And he’s  _ not  _ old” 

“Uh-huh.” Shaw sobbed.

Credence ripped the knife out of the table, out of Shaw’s hand. Shaw shrieked, falling out of the booth.

Graves stood as though in a dream, kissing Credence’s cheek. 

“Let’s head out to the car, shall we?”

-

Credence was silent as they collected Graves’ coat, sent someone to fetch the car. They stood shoulder to shoulder on the street. Graves longed to tuck the shivering boy into his coat.

“Credence.”

No response.

“Do you think I’m mad at you, baby?”

Credence sniffled. 

“I’m not mad. Look at me.”

Credence’s watery eyes found his.

“I’m not mad.” Graves opened his arms. Credence snuggled into his neck, arms around Graves’ shoulders. “Oh, my sweet boy. What a fun surprise.”

“I was so mad, Daddy!” Credence sobbed. “He was saying such awful things, I wanted to  _ hurt  _ him.”

Graves stroked his hair, rocking him gently. His little angel.

“I wanted to kill him.” Credence whispered. “Like mama.”

Graves stilled. “I thought that was…”  _ An accident. _

Credence shook his head. “Oh, you little  _ miracle _ .” Graves grinned.

“Are you gonna throw me out?”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Graves chuckled. “You gorgeous thing. You perfect thing. You’re mine, now.”

-

Credence stayed nuzzled against Graves’ chest for the car ride home. Graves leaned his forehead against the cold window, thinking.

“Did that feel good?”

Credence hummed. “I felt bad. You didn’t say it was okay.”

“What if I gave you permission? What if...you were my little pocket knife?” He put his fingers under Credence’s chin, meeting his dark eyes. “Hm? What about that, baby?”

Credence bit his lip, tears welling up and rolling down his pale cheeks. “It’s the Devil inside me. I’m sure of it. That’s what people said, I guess.”

“What if you could let him out..?”

Credence trembled. “C-can I still be your little boy?”

“ _ Always _ .” Graves growled. Credence pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“Of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> maybe??? another chapter???? BLAME GRAVESCIVAL FOR INSPIRING THIS 
> 
> idk comment what you think? any ideas? :000


End file.
